


As Once the Winged Energy of Delight

by blakefancier



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:10:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zen is home to Roj Blake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Once the Winged Energy of Delight

The corridors are dark and silent. Alien. Blake shudders, his hand sliding across the cold wall as he walks, as if touching it will steady him, lend him strength and determination.

All he feels is alone, worried, and unsure.

Can he keep Jenna on his side? Will Avon stab him in the back? Will this ship, this strange, uncanny ship ever feel like home?

Blake takes a deep breath and swallows hard before moving towards the unknown.

*****

The Liberator has the most beautiful mechanical systems Blake has ever seen. Sometimes, when he is elbow deep in wires, hands black with oil, he feels like a surgeon performing an intricate operation. He wonders if Zen feels it when he cuts and burns and welds.

Then Blake shudders at the thought and hopes not. He knows what it's like to have someone rummaging around inside of you, stealing intimacy. He remembers the feeling of helpless anger that consumes as you fight, as you cannot fight.

Should he ask permission first? Would it be worth Avon's mocking glare?

He touches Zen's walls, shuddering slightly at the feel of them, and says, "I'm sorry."

Suddenly, there is an electric shock and he jerks his hand away with a startled gasp. What the hell was that? He hesitatingly touches the wall again, tensing slightly, but instead of a shock, there is an almost welcoming warmth.

And he understands.

And he smiles.

*****

Night-shift is quiet and peaceful. The lights are dim and Zen's fascia twinkles in slow measure. Blake leans back against the arm of the couch and lets the tension drain from his body. His shoulders and jaw ache from holding it all in, holding it all back. But there is no need to hold it in now, not here, not when he is alone.

"Give me forward visual, Zen" he says, his voice hushed in deference to the time of night, though he would disturb no one.

"Confirmed." Zen's own voice is quiet.

Blake watches the stars slide across the vis-screen, catches sight of a planet or two, and suddenly, the silence is too much. It feels of dark and death and fear. "I was twelve the first time I saw the stars, the first time I saw the sky, breathed in unprocessed air."

Zen doesn't reply and he laughs breathlessly. What does he expect? He lets the rest of the words tumble out.

"It's required of all alphas, in their twelfth year, to take a trip outside. Escorted, of course. It was cold and raining and everyone was miserable. They plan it that way, I think. They want everyone to be miserable. But I loved it. I loved being cold and wet. I loved that the sky went on forever and that my socks were soaked, and that my teeth chattered so hard I could barely speak. But most of all, I loved that for the first time in my life, I felt free. I felt at home." He pauses, and says, softly, "I miss it. I miss Earth."

Then he shakes his head and glances at Zen's fascia; its lights have stopped twinkling, as if it were listening intently.

"Do you miss your home? Do you miss the System?"

Zen doesn't reply, but Blake really didn't expect it to.

He sighs and closes his eyes. "Don't let me fall asleep. If Avon catches me again, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Confirmed."

*****

There is an art to feeling pain and an art to denying it. And so when Gan dies, he thinks about breathing—breathe in, hold, breathe out, again—and the movement required to walk across the room, the energy created and spent. He does not think about empty rooms or empty eyes in faces covered with white dust.

Vila blames him, as does Avon. Even Jenna and Cally stare at him with accusing eyes. And why shouldn't they? It's his fault, all his fault. Everyone knows it.

Their grief cannot be his grief.

Once they're well away, safe, he hides in the lower levels, back pressed against the warmth of a wall, arms wrapped around his knees. Safe. His chest aches and his eyes are dry and if he moves, he will break into a million pieces.

His breath catches in his throat, and for a moment he forgets the steps, he forgets how to breathe. Then he hears the sound of the temperature environs kicking in, and it reminds his body of the rhythm.

He shivers as the cool air brushes his face and the wall grows warmer. He closes his eyes, knowing that Zen will tell him if anyone approaches.

*****

Blake wakes to the soft sound of wind chimes. He smiles, stretches, and considers staying in bed for another hour. Of course, this would mean another lecture from Jenna about the importance of keeping in compliance with the flight deck schedule.

He sighs and kicks back the covers. "All right, Zen. I'm awake."

The music stops and the lights of the cabin illuminate fractionally. He stumbles out of bed and picks his way through the warm room, shedding clothes as he goes along. The lights come on, muted in consideration to his sleepy state, as he enters the bathroom. He blinks, blearily, at his reflection in the mirror. He needs a shave, a shower, and a hot cup of coffee.

When Blake steps into the shower, the water turns on automatically, and he groans as the hot water pounds against his body; this feels so good. He takes longer than he should, there's so much to do, but he can't help himself, there's plenty of hot water to spare.

An hour later, he walks into the galley. There are two slices of toast, with orange marmalade, and a cup of coffee—two sugars, one milk—waiting for him on the food processing unit.

Mornings are good to him, thanks to Zen. He doesn't understand why the others grumble so much.

*****

Blake is sitting on the flight deck couch, staring at his datapad, studying the few maps they have of the third sector. Avon is on the flight deck with him, tinkering with the systems.

"Information," Zen's voice booms, startling them both. "There is a fault in the flight computer that requires manual repair."

He glances at Avon, who sighs, glares, and moves to Jenna's station. He goes back to studying his maps, ignoring Avon and Zen's conversation, that is, until Avon's startled cry.

Without a second thought, he's out of his seat and standing next to Avon, who is staring at his hands with a strange, almost alien, look. Blake hesitatingly touches Avon's face and frowns. There's something not quite right about the look in Avon's eyes, about the way he holds himself. It's almost as if Avon is uncomfortable in his own body. Blake glances at the computer terminal, then Avon. His breath catches in his throat as he remembers the interface and Jenna's reaction to it. It couldn't be… could it?

"Zen? Is that you," he asks softly.

Avon looks up and tilts his head slightly. "Confirmed."

"What-- What are you doing? Is Avon…" The words stick in his throat as Zen, tentatively, runs a finger over his bottom lip. The touch startles him, makes him anxious in a way he's never remembered feeling. "Z-Zen?"

"Kerr Avon pleases you."

Blake has never felt so confused in all his life. He grabs Zen's hand and takes a step back. They're too close. In a puzzled voice, he asks, "And you want me to be pleased?"

Zen blinks and replies softly, "Confirmed."

He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he's able to speak. "I don't understand."

"Interference in crew interaction is not allowed."

"This is interference."

"Yes." Zen pauses and moves its hand so that its palm is pressed against Blake's. "You are important, Roj Blake."

Blake looks down at their hands, then back up at Zen's face. The palm is warm. "Important to whom?"

Zen is silent, staring down at their hands.

"Important to you?" he asks, softly.

Zen swallows hard. "Confirmed."

"What about Avon?"

"I have not harmed Kerr Avon."

"No, of course you haven't." Never for a moment would Zen hurt any one of the crew, not when it's in its right mind. "But Zen, he's not going to be happy about this." He should pull away, he should order Zen to leave Avon's body.

"He will not remember." Zen steps closer and leans in.

"What—" Before he can finish asking the question, Zen's mouth covers his. Oh. He closes his eyes and kisses back. This is… yes. Oh, yes. He puts his arms around Zen and deepens the kiss. At first Zen is stiff, wooden, then he melts against Blake's body. This feels good: warm skin, hot mouth, the smell of leather. He wants this to continue. He wants to strip Zen and push him down on the couch. But he can't. And before this can go any further, he breaks the kiss and steps back.

Zen looks beautiful when he's aroused: flushed, mouth wet and panting, eyelids heavy. He wonders if Avon would look similar or of these responses are all Zen.

"You have to give Avon back control of his body." Blake can hear the reluctance in his own voice.

Zen licks his lips and when he answers, his voice is rough. "Confirmed."

"I won't tell Avon, but you can't do this again. It's not right." For a moment, he thinks Zen is going to protest, but then he simply nods. "I'm sorry, Zen."

"As am I." He walks over to the interface and places his hand on it. His face goes blank, then, suddenly, he collapses.

Blake runs over and gently takes him in his arms. When Avon's eyes flutter open, he can see the difference. He's surprised at the intensity of his disappointment.

It takes Avon a moment to realize where he is, but when he does, he scrambles out of Blake's arms. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I heard a noise and when I looked up, you had collapsed." It still surprises him at how easily he can lie these days. "Have you been eating? Are you still having trouble sleeping? Maybe you should have Cally take a look at you."

"I'm fine, Blake." With as much dignity as he can muster, Avon gets to his feet. "Now if you don't mind, there are a few repairs I need to finish in engineering."

Blake raises an eyebrow, but doesn't call him on his lie. Avon really does need more rest. Besides, he won't be able to look at him without thinking about that kiss. "All right."

When Avon leaves, he gives a sigh of relief, and gets to his feet. Zen is quiet, not that he can blame him, he doesn't feel like talking either. He walks over to the interface and stares at it for a moment. Jenna avoids it, though Blake has caught her staring at in with yearning on her face.

Should he?

He reaches out lightly runs a finger over it. He gasps, his eyes closing, as he feels something strange, something not-him and not-human brush against him. Zen?

 _Yes! Needdesireconnectiononeness--_

And suddenly, it's too much. Fear floods his body, and he tenses, gasping for breath as if he's drowning, maybe he is drowning. He pulls away, hugging himself while he tries to pull himself together, and the last not-him feeling lingers.

It tastes of an apology.

*****

Blake cannot sleep though he's exhausted. _Renounce, renounce_ , echoes in his mind, though they are his own memories now. He feels used, like a bruise scraped raw. He feels alone and he doesn't want to feel alone.

Tears fill his eyes and he angrily rubs them away—they'll only sting, not soothe.

It takes time to get out of bed; it leaves him shaky and unsure. He takes a step and then another. It does not get easier when he is in the corridor. He leans against the wall, the warm, solid wall, and somehow manages to make it to the flight deck.

Vila's on watch, and as always, he's asleep. It's enough to make Blake laugh, if he had the strength for it. He shuffles to the pilot's seat, and leans back against it. He closes his eyes and feels the way it shifts to conform to his body, easing the aches and pains.

He sighs and lets himself sink into the surety of Zen's embrace.

It's not enough; the raw place inside of him still hurts. Blake shivers and wonders if he should, if he dare try. He couldn't manage before now. He opens his eyes, gathers what little strength he has, and lays his palm on the interface.

At first, he feels nothing, and he wonders about his sanity, then there is a flicker, a lick of _other_ against his consciousness. It hesitates when he shudders, but doesn't move away, giving him the power to choose.

He almost moves away, it's almost too much, but then he remembers the loneliness that brought him here and takes a deep breath.

"Zen," he whispers. "It's all right."

 _Yes. Blake._ Zen waits, Blake can feel him waiting.

He reaches out and when he touches Zen, he has to stifle a surprised gasp; Vila is still in the room. Zen feels like wind and rain and chattering teeth, like the steady earth and the forever of the sky.

Zen feels like home.

*****

The sound of his name lingers in the dark, cold room, though Blake knows it is just a dream. It has to have been a dream; he hasn't seen Cally in over a year. He closes his eyes, pulls the covers up to his chin, and tries to fall back to sleep. Tries and fails. Something isn't right; he can feel it, like an itch he can't scratch, like a memory just out of reach.

He kicks back the blankets and gets out of bed. As he dresses, he calls Deva's room.

"Mmm, yes?" Deva's voice is thick with sleep.

"Wake Jenna. We need to leave within the hour." He pulls on his boots and ties them.

"What?" Deva is awake now. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Just do it!" He cuts the connection and begins to stuff his clothes into his rucksack.

They're on their way in forty-five minutes.

Jenna doesn't look too happy, nor does Deva, but they're willing to go along with whatever he needs. He should probably feel guilty about that.

"So where are we going? And why?" Jenna raises an eyebrow.

Blake closes his eyes and thinks about the dream. "Sector six, region delta seven one four. We're looking for… for… Terminal?"

"You don't sound so sure."

He opens his eyes and catches the two of them exchanging glances. "I'm sure."

"What is Terminal?" Poor Deva looks so tired, so wary.

"A planet. That's where we'll find Zen." Blake sits, suddenly feeling weak.

"Liberator?" Jenna sounds eager; well why not? She's a pilot and the Liberator is the finest ship in the galaxy. "Have you heard from Avon?"

"Cally," he replies automatically. After all, he can't tell them the truth. Jenna will think he's grasping at straws and Deva will just think he's crazy.

"Why don't you two get some sleep?" Jenna gives Blake a thoughtful look. "Deva can take over in eight hours and, Blake, you can take over for Deva. It looks like you'll need the extra sleep."

Blake doesn't argue; he hasn't been sleeping well lately.

*****

 _The Liberator is falling apart around him, breaking apart like a rotten fruit. It's all his fault. It's all his fault._

 _He's sorry, so sorry, but he can't get the words out._

 _Suddenly Avon is here, and his eyes are golden hexagons. "You left me. Blake. You left me alone." Then before Blake can go to him, his eyes crack open and blood pours down his face._

Blake wakes himself with screaming.

*****

"Nothing," Jenna whispers to herself, but they both hear her.

There is nothing but stars, space, and Terminal. Blake does his best to hide his disappointment, though the crush of it is almost physical. "We have to land."

"Why?" She turns to him and gives him an accusing stare.

"Just do it, Jenna." He's suddenly angry, angry with Zen for not being here, angry with himself for believing in dreams, angry at Jenna and Deva for their own disappointment.

"There is nothing here, Blake!"

"I know that! But I need to go down! I need to see, to make sure…" Make sure he isn't crazy. "Please, Jenna. *Please.*"

Deva walks over to Jenna and touches her shoulder. "Do it, Jenna. The sooner you do, the sooner we can leave. There's something about that planet that… that disturbs me."

"Fine." She glares at him one more time, then she's all business. "Is there anywhere specific you want me to put us down?"

"Yes," he says, surprised by his own answer. "Longitude 25 degrees north, latitude 45 degrees west."

*****

They can see the wreckage as they get closer, blackened streaks on white snow. There are still parts that are smoldering

Jenna sets the ship down quickly, and they both hurry out, though they're not dressed for the weather. His knees almost give way when he smells the destruction—it reminds him of cooking flesh. He staggers away and is sick in the bushes.

"Blake? Do you think—You don't think...?" Jenna reaches out and grabs his hand.

"I don't know. I just... I don't know." If they were, he hopes it was quick. "We should check."

She nods and stares helplessly at the wreckage.

He takes a deep shuddering breath. "You start there, Jenna. I'll... I'll look over there."

"What about me?" Deva asks.

Blake glances at Deva startled; he's forgotten all about him. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "Go back to the ship and scan the area. See if you can find where the rest of Zen fell. Oh, and bring us some warmer clothing."

*****

Blake finds him just as he's about to give up. At a distance, it looks like Avon, but as he gets closer, he can tell that he's mistaken. He moves through the wreckage quickly, but carefully, until he reaches the young man lying in the snow, pale underneath the ash that covers his body. Blake touches him, and a shock of recognition runs through his body.

It's impossible, of course, it's impossible. But in the past five years he's seen so many impossible things. What's one more? He is still grieving for his lost friends, but there's no denying the pleasure he feels. When the young man wakes, Blake knows, with a certainty that's frightening, his eyes will be the welcoming gold of home.


End file.
